Familial Pretensions
by Madraykin
Summary: A new girl appears and a certain Slytherin prince finds himself strangely fixated on her. Warnings: Language, situation, eating disorders and possible self-mutilation (non-graphic)
1. About A Girl

**Title: **Familial Pretensions  
**Author: **Madraykin  
**Rating: **R-ish I think. Language, situation, eating disorders and possible self-mutilation (non-graphic).  
**Summary: **A new girl appears and a certain Slytherin prince finds himself strangely fixated on her. Warnings: Language, situation, eating disorders and possible self-mutilation (non-graphic)  
**Disclaimer: **The characters belong to J.K. Rowling.Not me. I'm just playing.  
**A/N: **I originally meant for this to be a one-part story, but the beginning rather ran away with me. So now I'm thinking maybe 2 or 3 chapters if people like it. Lame title, I'm sorry. Please review, this is only my second fic and I crave feedback in order to improve.   
**A/N 2:** this has now been edited. Much thanks to Niuserre for beta-ing

* * *

It is the first day back at school of his fifth year and Draco Malfoy is already bored. He's been bored since the train left London all those hours ago. Because really, when you're used to it all, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry isn't all that amazing. To him, it is practically the same as home, except at home he doesn't have to deal with these idiots who want to talk and talk and tell him all about their holidays and paw at him and have his attention, even if it's just for a fleeting second.

He half watches the sorting ceremony with semi-shuttered eyes. He makes clapping motions whenever some new first year gets sorted in to Slytherin, but it's pretty much an unconscious effort now. He scans the hall from under his eyelashes; he notes the Gryffindors beaming and cheering every time they receive a new first year, he also notes that this year there seems to be even more first years than usual. He isn't sure how that happened. Wouldn't the threat of Voldemort's return have driven them away? Sent them all to Beauxbatons, or maybe all the way to America or Australia. But then he remembers that that imbecile Fudge is still denying his return.

Suddenly his gaze reaches the end of the line of first years and he has to stop his body physically betraying his surprise as he sees a girl standing there. She is significantly taller than the rest of them, and there is no way he can imagine that she can be a first year. If he had to guess he'd say she was a sixth or seventh year, maybe a fifth year at the very youngest. If he were forced to admit his wish as to which year she belonged with, he would have to grudgingly say fifth.

He studies her closely through his eyelashes. She has black hair. Long, straight, shiny black hair, nothing like that mudblood Granger's. Which is an odd comparison now that he thinks about it. As far as he can tell she has a near perfect classical face; large eyes with long dark lashes (he imagines her eyes are blue, but he can't tell from this distance), an elegant nose and perfect cupid bow lips. And pale, pale skin. Skin so pale it could rival his. He is sure she is wearing make-up. After all, most of the girls do, but he is sure that it by no means detracts from her loveliness.

Wait. Lovely? He isn't sure where that came from. Loveliness certainly isn't a Malfoy-ish word. _And _he doesn't even know who she is. Maybe if she is sorted into Slytherin or Ravenclaw and is a high ranking pureblood it will be all right for him to think of her as lovely.

Having sorted that out in his mind he goes back to his study. At first glance, her clothing seems to be the same as everyone else's; a plain black robe. But looking closer he sees that she is wearing high-heeled lace up boots. At least he is pretty sure that they are boots, because they disappear under her robe. And he is also sure that she is wearing gloves; black, fingerless gloves, made out of dragonhide (or at least they will be if she is a pureblood, if she isn't they might be that horrible leather stuff that muggles wear). He wonders more than ever who she is. After all they wouldn't let just anybody flout school rules like that. One thing he is definitely sure of is that high-heeled boots and gloves are not part of the school uniform.

On the edge of his consciousness he notices that the room has suddenly gone silent and he pulls his attention away from the girl. He realises that during his study period all of the new first years have been sorted and she is now standing in front of the staff table in the middle of the hall. And _everybody_ is looking (he decides that 'looking' is far too bland. Maybe staring, or gaping, would have been more appropriate. But he's had the thought now, he's used looking) at her. He can see now that her eyes are blue. A deep, velvety blue. And while the entire student population gawks at her she just stands there, holding her head at _that_ angle (Draco wasn't entirely sure what that angle was, his mother had tried patiently to teach it to him, as had his deportment instructor, but now that he sees it done right, he knows exactly what it is) with perfect posture and a calm blank mask over her face, and ignores them. 

Dumbledore stands, he presumes to introduce her, but all that passes through his haze of awareness while he considers every subtle nuance of her face and stance is; 'transfer student', 'Beauxbatons', 'fifth year' and 'Seraphine de Mort'. 

Angel of death. He muses. It suits her. And now that he knows her name he can look it up. Or ask his father. 

He pulls himself sharply back to the present as she walks up to the stool and sits bolt upright as McGonagall places the hat on her head. After a brief pause the hat shouts out, 

"Slytherin." 

And she removes it from her head, her face the same perfect mask as before and her hair appearing untouched by the hat, stands up and walks with a slight sway of her hips towards the Slytherin table, her boots making quiet clicking noises on the wooden floor. She sits and Dumbledore stands again to make his usual beginning of term speech. 

Dumbledore sits again and food appears on the plates. 

Draco is still watching her. He notices that she doesn't eat much, and she completely ignores her dessert. He also notices that no one is talking to her, and he imagines that under her flawless mask she is feeling rather nervous. It is to be expected that no one talks to her; they don't know who she is. And although it will be assumed that she is a pureblood (very few mudbloods get into Slytherin) they don't know her status or her allegiances. 

As she rises to follow the first years and a prefect to her dormitory he decides that he will sit next to her and talk to her tomorrow at breakfast. 

* * *

**End note: **I'm not too sure about the present tense. I hope I didn't slip up anywhere. So verdicts? Critiscism? 


	2. Disturbing Thoughts

**Title: **Familial Pretensions  
**Author: **Madraykin  
**Rating: **R-ish I think. Language, situation, eating disorders and possible self-mutilation (non-graphic).  
**Summary: **A new girl appears and a certain Slytherin prince finds himself strangely fixated on her. Warnings: Language, situation, eating disorders and possible self-mutilation (non-graphic)  
**Disclaimer: **The characters belong to J.K. Rowling. Not me. I'm just playing.  
**A/N: **I originally meant for this to be a one-part story, but the beginning rather ran away with me. So now I'm thinking maybe 2 or 3 chapters if people like it. Lame title, I'm sorry. Please review, this is only my second fic and I crave feedback in order to improve.   
**A/N 2:** this has now been edited. Much thanks to Niuserre for beta-ing

* * *

Seraphine de Mort.

At first he had just thought that her parents must've had a strange sense of humour. But as he looks up her family in the library after the welcoming feast he discovers that her fathers name was Theodonias, and that after her marriage to him her mother had changed her name to Exousia. He surmises that it is a family tradition. He does wonder why they seem to have a varied the tradition slightly for her, but resigns himself to never knowing as he knows he will not ask her.

In his research into her family he has also discovered that she is both pureblooded and noble. However, he finds that her family took no side in the war with Voldemort, which was not uncommon amongst the French as his sphere of influence was mostly concentrated on Britain. Nevertheless the de Mort's are undoubtedly a 'dark' family.

He cherishes this knowledge, as he knows that it allows him to approach her without fearing his father's wrath.

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It is morning and he is back at the Slytherin table. He is waiting for her to put in an appearance.

As he waits, he abstractly eats his breakfast. It is only when he finishes and sees the rest of the school rise to head to their classes that he realises that she has still not arrived. He imagines that she must have overslept as he can think of no other reason to miss breakfast. He makes a silent vow to himself to try again at lunch and stands to follow his classmates.

He reaches the Arithmancy classroom and is surprised to see that she is already sitting there at the back of the room. He moves towards her, intending to say hello but the professor enters the room and he is forced to take a seat at the desk next to her without uttering a word.

He quickly becomes bored with the lesson and lets his mind drift. He watches her, glad that although he did not get to talk to her he still managed to sit near her. He looks at her out of the corner of his eye. He notices that she is still wearing those gloves, although they could just look the same as the other ones, and those boots. He also notices that while her face and eyes are turned towards the professor in an attempt to look like she is paying attention, she is not taking any notes and her eyes have a slight glazed quality that he recognises from dinner parties and balls.

He knows that there is a type of witch one marries, a type one flirts with and a type one uses for…more physical activities. He almost blushes as the final 'type' enters his mind. He knows that he has a reputation, but he is also privy to the knowledge that a high percentage of the stories that the girls whisper to each other aren't true.

He lets his eyes flick back to her face. She is still sitting in exactly the manner, the same expression on her face.

He decides that she is very well bred. And that his mother would love her. She is perfect. And he knows that she would be a wonderful Mrs Malfoy Jr.

Fuck. He wishes his thoughts wouldn't run away with him like that. Because now he's had the thought he knows that he'll keep on thinking about it. And really it isn't something he should be thinking about. Because persons of his station marry whom their parents select and not those who they consider to be lovely. And then he curses silently in his head because he used that word again.

He takes a moment to sneak a closer look at her face. Last night he had only seen her from a distance and he wants, no, needs confirmation that he was right.

He almost sighs in relief when his eyes show him that seeing her close to is just as good as watching her from far away. He observes that her cheekbones really are quite sharp, and that her cheeks look hollow. He thinks this is a bit odd because none of the other girls have this look, but then he remembers seeing it on the faces of his mother's friends, so he imagines that it is merely another thing that makes her suitable.

He wonders why he keeps coming back to that thought. He isn't even 16 yet, and all though they will expect him to be married by the time he is 21 that is just over 5 years away and he really doesn't need to think about it yet. But they do keep parading 'suitable' girls in front of him when he is at home, so he wonders of maybe he should actually be thinking about it after all. After all, his father always tells him that he should be prepared. Though he isn't entirely sure what he should be prepared for exactly, he considers the possibility that his father's comment is a statement that covers all areas of life.

A flash of movement catches his eye and he perceives that her gloves hands are fluttering slightly as though she wants to fidget but is repressing the urge. He notices that her wrists seem impossibly thin and fragile. He wonders if under her robe the rest of her is just as delicate and breakable.

He comes to with a start as chairs scrape back and students stand up in order to go to their next class.

Once they enter the corridor he loses her in the crowd, but silently renews his vow to talk to her at lunch.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He is perturbed when she doesn't turn up for lunch. He muses on where she might be, and wonders why she has missed both meals so far today.

As lunch ends he sighs inwardly and updates his vow to state that he will talk to her at dinner. Because he can think of no reason why she should not be at dinner as everyone puts in an appearance at dinner.

* * *

**End note: **I'm still not too sure about the present tense. I think that this chapter is clumsy. Verdicts? Criticisms?

For anyone who doesn't understand the thing with the names: Seraphine means Angel and both Theodonias and Exousia are angels.

Thanks to Catmint for being my first reviewer. 


	3. An Interesting Bout Of Insomnia

**Title: **Familial Pretensions  
**Author: **Madraykin  
**Rating: **R-ish I think. Language, situation, eating disorders and possible self-mutilation (non-graphic).  
**Summary: **A new girl appears and a certain Slytherin prince finds himself strangely fixated on her. Warnings: Language, situation, eating disorders and possible self-mutilation (non-graphic)  
**Disclaimer: **The characters belong to J.K. Rowling. Not me. I'm just playing.  
**A/N: **I originally meant for this to be a one-part story, but the beginning rather ran away with me. So now I'm thinking maybe 2 or 3 chapters if people like it. Lame title, I'm sorry. Please review, this is only my second fic and I crave feedback in order to improve.

**A/N2: **This took me ages. Sorry. Bloody school. 

I've edited the hell out of the first 2 chapters, so I suggest you go and read them again if you haven't read them since this chapter was uploaded. And I've been unable to contact my beta, so this chapter has yet to be checked for mistakes, sorry.

* * *

It is nearly Halloween and he still hasn't seen her at a meal. He keeps updating his vow, and he keeps trying to sit near her during lessons. He wonders why she never eats with the rest of the students. He knows that she _must _eat sometimes; otherwise she'd be dead. And he doesn't think that she looks very dead. But he has noticed that she seems to be getting thinner, if that's at all possible. He has considered going to Snape about her, but rejects the idea every time he thinks of it. It would not do for him to show concern, if that is what it is. He has never been concerned about anyone before so is not quite sure whether he is concerned about her. It would be a weakness. And he doesn't dare think about what his father would say if it got back to him.

He hasn't heard her speak yet either.

At least that's a logical jump. He almost sighs in relief but remembers just in time that when one is a Malfoy one does not sigh in relief. Ever. Never the less he is glad that his thought processes haven't become completely illogical, although they seems to have become increasingly erratic since the beginning of term. And her arrival.

He is sick of lying there staring at the canopy over his bed and thinking strange disconnected thoughts.

It is 3am and he is creeping down the stairs from his dormitory to the common room. He hears a slight noise when he is a few steps away from entering the common room and freezes. He is sure that they are still allowed in the common room after curfew. After all curfew only applies to being outside in the halls. But he still doesn't want to be caught in the common room at 3am. And he wonders why he is worrying because he isn't even in the common room, and he'll be able to see into it before anyone in there would be able to see him. But then he remembers that he is still wearing his pyjamas and although they are very nice pyjamas (if he does say so himself) it would not do for him to be seen in them.

He creeps forwards and cautiously looks into the common room. At first he thinks it is empty and that the noise he heard was just imagined, but then he perceives a small black figure curled up on a sofa in front of the fire.

He is intrigued. He wants to know who it is, so he tiptoes closer until he sees that the figure is quite definitely feminine.

She is gazing blankly at the flickering fire, the orange flames reflected in her eyes. Her hair hangs around her expressionless face.

She is wearing some sort of baggy black silk trousers and a black cotton top in a style that he is sure he's heard Pansy describe as a spaghetti strap top. Her knees are pulled in close to her chest and her arms are squashed between her legs and her body.

He pauses in the doorway not sure what to do. As he dithers (although as a Malfoy he will never admit to anything other than careful consideration of several alternatives) she looks around with a questioning look in her eye, as though something has caught her attention but she doesn't quite know what. Her gaze drifts around the common room, and then it alights on him. The corners of her mouth curve up in an insecure smile and her eyes close briefly.

He smiles back nervously and she tilts her head as if to indicate that he should come to her. Then she turns back towards the fire.

He takes a few hesitant steps forward, then stops. He squares his shoulders resolutely and continues walking towards the sofa with a more definite step.

He sits down at the other end of the sofa from her. They sit in silence for a few moments before he breaks it.

"Hello." He pauses, unsure how to continue. "I'm Draco Malfoy."

"Je sa…" She trails off. He is fairly certain that she was going to say 'I know', but caught herself before she made such a faux pas. "Je m'appelle Seraphine de Mort."

Briefly he wonders whether to reply to her in French but quickly decided on English. They are after all in England, it appears to him that English doesn't come naturally to her, and it is an informal conversation.

"It's nice to meet you." He holds his hand out towards her. She looks hesitant but slowly extracts one arm, which he now sees is still encased in a fingerless black dragonhide glove, and extends it towards him. He takes her hand in his and marvels at how tiny it is. As he raises her hand to his lips the delicate bones shift under translucent skin. He imagines that he could crush it without much effort.

"It is nice to meet you too." Her English is almost flawless, but he notices a slight trace of an accent. He wonders how she seems to have learnt it so well and seem so uncomfortable using it.

She looks at him through her eyelashes and he realises that he still has her hand clasped in his. He keeps it there a moment longer than reluctantly releases it. She draws her arm back towards her body slowly, as though she were dragging it against its will.

"So," he racks his brain desperately trying to think of a topic of conversation, "How do you like Hogwarts?"

She tilts her head slightly to one side, considering the question.

"It is very different." He gestures for her to continue. "You don't know who I am."

He is confused, and he thinks he must have let down his guard and let it show on his face because she looks him square in the eye and continues,

"No one here knows what I am. What I've done. And most importantly what I will do." Then she delicately uncurls herself and stands up. He sees that she really is very tiny and the boots that she wears during the daytime give her far more height than he thought they did.

"Goodnight." And she leaves. Quickly and quietly.

He sits there staring after her then he turns his head back to the fire and stares at the flames.

* * *

**End note: **See they spoke! Yay. Erm, but that totally didn't go as planned. *Glares at computer*

Thanks to Catmint, Twisted Silver Dagger and Phoebe for reviewing.. 


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